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“Pheebs.Not helpful.”
“Right. Sorry.”
The problem is just how accurate her description is. I’ve known since the very beginning of my employment at Bane that Ruslan is an asshole. But I’ve also known that he’s a stupidlyattractiveone.
I’ve seen enough glimpses of his tattoos to want to see more. I’ve seen enough glimpses of that smile—it’s rare, but it exists—to want him to turn it in my direction. Just once. Is that so much to ask?
Apparently, the answer is a resounding “yes.”
Wearily, I thump up the stairs to my apartment. It’s odd to be getting home before the sun has set. The kids are still in afterschool for another forty-five minutes and Ben is at a “job fair” (which is what they should officially rename the neighborhood bar), so I have a rare chunk of time to myself.
“Tell me something about you,” I request as I unlock the front door.
“You’re changing the subject,” Phoebe accuses.
“I absolutely am. Indulge me.”
She exhales. “Let’s see, let’s see… Went out with that hotshot chef dude last weekend.”
“Oh? You do love forearms, don’t you?”
“Guilty as charged. It was a good date, honestly. Oysters, as it turns out, are indeed an aphrodisiac.”
“I take it you got lucky?”
Phoebe snorts. “Hegot lucky, you mean. It’s not everyone who gets a chance to dine on the sweet nectar of my—”
“Yup,” I interrupt hurriedly before she gets going too far gone to be stopped. “I get the picture. Also, I’m not sayingeveryonegets to, but by my count, lots of people do. There was the accountant—”
“He helped me do my taxes!”
“The zookeeper…”
“He promised I’d get to see his pet monkey!”
“The therapist, the oil rig worker, the PhD student…”
“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m a filthy whorish witch and I should be burned at the stake,” she says hastily. “But one, it’s the Year of Our Lord 2023, so slut-shaming is no longer socially acceptable. And two, sue me for living a little. I’m young and hot and I want to see what’s on offer. You should do the same.”
I giggle. She knows I’m not actually shaming her—it’s mostly jealousy talking. I haven’t been laid in so long that I’m terrified I’m sprouting cobwebs between my thighs.
“I know,” I say with yet another weary sigh. “I should. I just… can’t, you know? I mean, I don’t have time and even if I did, I don’t exactly have prospects beating down my door for a chance to take me out on a date.”
“You would if you put yourself out there, babe,” Phoebe says in her soft voice. “I know it’s hard. I know you miss Sienna. I know you’ve got the kids to think about and Ben to ignore. But just… try, okay? Promise me you’ll try. If there’s anyone in your life who you could see yourself trying with, it’s worth taking a shot. Tomorrow’s never guaranteed, love. You and I know that better than anyone. So you owe it to yourself—and to all the people who love and depend on you—to be happy.”
I drop my purse on my kitchen table and plop down on the armchair. Something wet crunches under me, which turns out to be a half-eaten Taco Bell burrito. Ben’s handiwork, no doubt, along with the rest of the mess in the house that Iliterally just cleaned yesterday.
Grimacing, I extricate the taco and lob it into the nearby trash can. “You’re right. I’ll try.”
“Pinky swear?”
“Yeah. Pinky swear.”
“Okay,” says Phoebe, sounding satisfied. “I’ve gotta go to Hot Girl Yoga. I love you with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns. Give the little ones my love, too. Ta-ta.”
Then she hangs up.
I let my hand fall into my lap. The phone slides into the gap between cushion and armrest, but I let it stay wedged there.
